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POEMS 



P O E M S 



E. L. F 



$ttnteti for IMbate ^Tiwulatton 

BY W. BLACKWOOD & SONS, EDINBURGH 
MDCCCLXI 






205449 
5 13 



MY HUSBAND AND CHILDREN 



THIS VOLUME 



AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED 



CONTENTS 



CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED. 



PAGE 

THE HERMIT: A FRAGMENT. Written at the Age of Fifteen, ... 1 

THE EASTERN SAGE. Written at the Age of Sixteen, 10 

MARY, 12 

THE RUIN, 15 

ON THE LAST DAY OF THE YEAR 1843, 17 

ON THE DEATH OF A SISTER AGED TEN, 18 

SILENT GRIEF, 19 

PARTING, 20 

HOPE, 21 

LINES— "I NE'ER A HAPPY MOMENT FEEL," 22 

LOVE-GIFTS, 23 

LOVE'S DOUBTS AND FEARS, 24 

LINES— "THERE IS A HOPE OF JOY TO COME," 26 

SONG— "OH, TEACH ME TO FORGET!" 27 

THE FORSAKEN, 28 

MEMORY, 30 

FLOWERS,. 32 

VERSES-" OH! THERE ARE HEARTS THAT NE'ER ATTUNE," .. 33 

ON A GLEN AT ROSENEATH, 34 

MORNING, 36 

ON THE ROYAL CHILDREN, 38 



PAGE 

CHILDHOOD, 40 

ON J. S., 42 

THE LANGUAGE OP SILENCE, 43 

WHAT IS HAPPINESS? 45 

EOSENEATH, 46 

LINES-"OH! LET MY HEAKT LINGER," 48 

THE STAR, 49 

OH, TELL ME NOT OF OTHER DAYS! 51 

THE FORGET-ME-NOT 53 

THE WITHERED LEAF, 54 

SPRING, 55 

SERENADE, 56 

THERE ARE SCENES, &c, 57 

OH, I WOULD BE ALONE! 58 

A REVERIE, 62 

THE BLIND BEGGAR, 64 

THE WIDOW'S SON, 65 

A LOVE-LETTER, .' 66 

THE REPLY 70 

NEW-YEAR'S DAY, 73 

LOCH GAIR. 1844, . 77 

WOMAN'S LOVE, 80 

OH, MOLLY DEAR! 84 

THE FUTURE. 1844, 86 

NATURE. 1845 89 

DREAMY LINES. 1846, 91 

TO M. I. F. ON HER MARRIAGE-DAY. 1847,.... 93 

ON AN INFANT'S DEATH ~ 96 

ON AN INFANT'S GRAVE. 1847, 98 

SAD HOURS. 1848, 99 

LINES. Wkitten at Dbumfobk, 101 



THOUGHTS. WRIiTEN AT EOSENEATH, 103 

DKUMFOEK : A Summer's Residence, 104 

THE WATCHER 106 

HOME, 108 

SONG— "LIGHT OF MY SOUL," 110 

THE VOICE OF SPRING, Ill 

MUSINGS,.... 112 

THE LIP MAY SMILE, 114 

NIGHT, 115 

OH! THERE ARE HOURS, 116 

ON HEARING A CHILD LAUGH AT PLAY 118 

OH! SING OF JOY 120 

HOURS OF REFLECTION, 122 

WHAT SHALL WE LOVE? 124 

A DIALOGUE, 127 

WORDS, 129 

LOCH LONG. By Moonlight, 130 

TO NORA, on her Third Birthday, June 21, 135 

ON THE SEA-SHORE, 137 

THE DESERTED COTTAGE. Imitation of Wordsworth, 139 

TO MINNIE 1855, 142 

SONG— "I MAY SEEM HAPPY," 144 

ALICE, 146 

THE PAST, 148 

ON AYR. Living at Wellington Square, 150 

ON VISITING STAFFA. 18-58 ^ 151 

LITTLE VOICES, 153 

MARY MAUD, 155 

TO BABY, 156 

TWEEDSMUIR, 157 



POEMS. 



THE HEEMIT. 

A FRAGMENT. 

Written at the Age of Fifteen. 

A lovely eve — the setting sun 
Its work of glory had begun, 
And, ere it parted from oiir gaze, 
Shed all around its beauteous rays, 
As if it would enclasp the scene 
Where it had reigned in beauty's sheen. 
The glow had pierced a valley deep, 
Where Nature's beauty seemed to sleep- 



So calmly still, the dewy air 

Seemed but to breathe in slumber there. 

High rocks encircled that lone vale, 

Where dwelt the hero of our tale. 

A man, by age and sorrow bent, 

Had years of loneliness here spent — 

In this lone valley, far removed 

From all he ever knew or loved. 

But deem not that he friendless dwelt, 

Or that all feeling was unfelt : 

The tow'ring rocks that fiercely flung 

Their giant fragments o'er the vale — 
The feeble flowers that closely clung 

To those rude tenements of the dale — 
The sweeping wind, the murmuring breeze, 
The shadowed foliage of the trees, — 
All things in nature seemed to be 
The friends of his adversity. 



Long years had faded life's young bloom, 
And wrapt his soul in shades of gloom, 



As o'er his darkly- troubled breast, 

That never knew one hour of rest, 

Dim visions of the past would roll 

In strange confusion round his soul ; 

And then across his burning brow 

Would rush the thought, What am I now t 

A being lonely, wild, and rude — 

A man of earth, in solitude. 

. . . One night a vision wrapt his soul 

With fierce and startling deep control, 

And scenes and actions long gone by 

Were hurled o'er his memory, 

As if his wondering eyes were cast 

On some bright mirror of the past ; 

And all he ever did or said 

Was in that fearful moment read : — 

His infant hours of laughing grace, 

When all the soul shone in his face ; 

And those bright years, that knew the boy 

A playful child of mirth and joy ; 

The scenes and visions that had shed 

Their light and shadow o'er his head, 



And left the child a noble youth, 

With heart of love, and soul of truth — 

A being formed to grace the earth, 

A monument of beauty's worth ! 

But ere those days of sunshine past, 

His young heart's promise was o'ercast. 

Who ever felt a moment's joy 

ITnfollowed by a deep alloy, 

Or knew not life must ever be 

A vision of uncertainty 1 

. . . He knew and loved a being bright, 

Who was to him a star of light, 

Or seemed an angel lent to earth 

To fix his soul on moral worth. 

Adela was the child of one 

O'er whom the tides of Fate had run 

With fearful force, and left her sire 

A man of deep and gloomy ire : 

And fits of passion, wild and deep, 

Would o'er his frenzied spirit sweep ; 

While men would tremble 'neath the blight 

Of one whose frown was dark as night. 



Yet there was one who had the power 
To soothe the terrors of that hour, 
And quell the fury of the storm 
That shook the tall and stately form, — 
His child, the idol of his soul, 
O'er these dark moments held control. 
A sound, a breath from her could chase 
The demon from its lurking-place ; 

Her sweet low voice, her fairy foot, 

« 

The music of her magic lute, — 
A glance from her deep swimming eye, 
Would quell his fiercest agony. 
Then he would gaze on that dear face, 
Intently bent on his, to trace 
The shade depart from off that brow, 
Thus smiling on her brightness now ; 
And then he felt there still was one 
To whom his spirit fondly clung ; 
The last of his proud race was she, 
The lode-star of his destiny. 
Adela loved him — loved, 'tis true, 
But then she feared and dreaded too ; 



Alternate shadows crossed her mind, 

With, feelings deep, though undefined ; 

Obedience marked her inmost soul, 

She knew no law save his control : 

The last leaf of the fading tree 

Clung not with more intensity 

Unto the dark and withered bough 

Than she clung to her father now. 

. . . She knew young Rudolph — loved him too, 

With feelings deep, intensely true : 

He was the friend of those bright years, 

When hope is life, and smiles and tears 

Alternately enfold the heart 

'Neath visions that ere long depart, 

Unveiling to the trusting mind 

The world is not what it defined. 

Young Rudolph's history none could tell ; 

There seemed a deep and mystic spell 

Encircling all that could relate 

To his untoward, friendless state. 

None knew the tale of ages gone, 

Saving the dark and stern one, 



Who wrapt in shadows of the past 

The being on his bounty cast. 

He never felt a parent's care 

His infant joys or sorrows share, 

He never felt the voice of love 

O'er his young spirit gently move, 

Until he saw the bright Adel, 

And then the lightning of love's spell 

Broke o'er the spirit of life's dream, 

As sunshine o'er the darkened stream. 

But as he loved, hope, withering, fled, 

Like the pale memory of the dead. 

He knew and felt each childish scene 

Must cease to be what it had been, 

And that the day-dream of his soul 

Was but a visionary goal — 

A madd'ning hope, that chain' d his heart 

To one from whom he must depart. 

. . Adela grew in beauty's light, 
A thing of earth, yet passing bright, 
And like the wild and blooming flower, 
That bent but to the fragrant shower, 



She ne'er had felt the breath of storm 
Convulsive shake her fragile form. 
She knew her father's dreaded mood, 
His fierce-toned passion, wild and rude ; 
And conld his child, his own Adel, 
On whom his fondest day-dreams dwell — 
Could she, the only thing he loved, 
Behold that spirit deeply moved, 
And feel the deep-toned anger wrest 
Her image from his frenzied breast, 
Nor quail beneath the storm's frown, 
That bent her young heart's promise down 1 
. She knew that in her infant years 

She was the promised bride of one 
Whose image haunted her with fears 

And terrors she in vain would shun : — 
A man of noble, far descent, 
O'er whom the shades of time had bent — 
An aged Count, whose treasured gold 
His heart's best virtues did enfold — 
A man her inmost soul would shun, 
Must he, the hated, dreaded one, 



Be doomed for her benighted heart, 

Her brightest hopes for ever part, 

The fairest visions of her mind 

Pass like the breathings of the wind 1 

The thought was horror — yet she knew 

It was reality — too true I 

Her fate was fixed by one who never 

The thought and action deigned to sever, 

And bent her soul in silent grief, 

To misery without relief. 



ON AN ANECDOTE FROM WHITECBOSS. 

. THE EASTEEN SAGE. 

Written at the Age of Sixteen. 

And the spirit passed from its earthly frame, 
As the chill of death o'er the pale cheek came, 
Blasting the blossom that hloomed for an hour 
In the heartfelt love of a princely power. 

And the parent bent o'er his lovely child, 
And that moment's anguish .was deep and wild, 
As he gazed on the form, as if for ever, 
And his tall frame shook with a fearful shiver. 

But a deep voice startled his bosom's grief 
With the promised hope of a sure relief, 
And his wondering soul from its reverie broke, 
As an aged Sage to his spirit spoke : — 



10 



"Thy child shall yet live if my Prince doth know 
Three beings on earth who have ne'er felt woe, 
Whose bosoms have never re-echoed a sigh 
For the loved or the lost, who have long gone by." 

And the Prince long sought, as the Sage had said, 
But years flew by, and his heart's hope fled; 
And he found 'twas a fruitless search at last ; 
And his voice was hush'd o'er the silent past. 



n 



M A R Y. 

Many a year hath passed awaj r 

Since I beheld a scene, 
As deeply fraught with joy and woe 

As life hath ever been. 

Here let nie view the cottage dear, 

The porch and trellised door, 
Where roses sweet together meet, 

And ivy trembles o'er ; 

The glassy lake whose mirrored sheen 

Eeflects the sunlit sky, 
And many a blushing flower is seen 

To greet the passer-by ; 

And mountains dark, whose towering height 

Seemed, in my fancy's play, 
A barrier 'twixt the w^orld and those 

Who shunned its bright array. 



12 



The sun shone brighter in those days, 
Fairer each flower that grew ; 

The very "birds sang lighter then, 
As if they loved them too. 

I loved a fair and joyous girl, 
And made her all mine own ; 

And here long months of tenderness 
In "beauty glided on. 

She was to me a brightening star 

Of life and love on earth, 
And joy lay laughing in her eye — 

Her very voice was mirth. 

Those days were far too bright to last — 

Mine, but to pass away ; 
And dread consumption's fatal blast 

Made all I loved its prey. 

And it smiled upon her placid brow, 
Blushing on that fair cheek ; 



13 



MARY. 



But the anguish of a breaking heart 
]STo words could ever speak. 

I saw her dying day by day, 

And still no power to save 
The lovely and the loving one 

From the dark and cheerless grave. 

And yet the sun, with brightening ray, 

Shone o'er the deep-blue sky, 
While my Mary's spirit passed away 

To its better home on high. 

And I fled, from that sad hour, away, 
I knew not, cared not, whither ; 

And I wished, in passion's fearful play, 
That we had died together. 

And many a year I wandered far, 

In many a distant clime ; 
And my heart's young grief is shadowed now 

By the blending hand of Time. 



14 



THE RUIN. 

I stood beside a ruined hall, 

Where the sunshine brightly played, 
And methought the fragments of that grey wall 

Shrank in the gloom dismayed. 

It was all too bright for the mouldering tower, 

And the green ivy's tendril embrace ; 
There Time had impressed, 'neath its cold blighting power, 

Full many a shadowy trace. 

And I thought on the lovely and lone — 

On the beautiful, brave, and the free ; 
And the scenes and the revelry gone 

'Neath the waves of dark Time's foaming sea. 

Yet, despite the damp chill of decay 
That hovered around the wild scene, 



15 



Sweet flowers in their beauty would stray, 
As if visions like these ne'er had been. 

Oh ! 'tis thus, in this world of care, 
Though age may be tottering near, 

Youth smiles with as buoyant an air 
As if Time were no messenger here. 



16 



L IN E S 

WRITTEN ON THE LAST DA? OF THE YEAR 1843. 

Another year hath fleeted by, 
Thus short' ning life's brief destiny, 

The vision of an hour. 
Years as bright may come again, 
But years of sorrow, years of pain, 

May also o'er us lower. 

Many a bright and joyous heart, 
That in our gladness shared a part, 

Hath also passed away; 
And many hopes, careering high, 
Are doomed in nothingness to die — 

Brief shadows of decay. 

And many a sad and bitter tear 
Hath marked the quickly-passing year, 

A tide of deepest sorrow. 
There is no heart would wish again, 
With all its gladness, all its pain, 

The present year — to-morrow. 



17 



LINES 

ON THE DEATH OE A SISTER AGED 10. 

She hath passed from the earth like a vision of light, 
Entrancing our souls 'neath the shadows of night ; 
She hath been to our life like a beautiful dream, 
Or the wandering course of a wavering stream. 

Few summers had bloomed o'er the fairy-like form, 
And light waved the breeze of life's pitiful storm 
Around that young heart, where each transient emotion 
But quivered the soul, like a breath on the ocean. 

And heaven hath caught the pure spirit again, 
That wandered awhile in this valley of pain ; 
The silvery dew that hath gladdened the earth, 
Must haste to the region from whence it had birth. 

And thus passed her soul to its home in the sky ; 
Then why should we weep 1 for that soul cannot die ; 
Her Saviour hath riven the veil from the tomb, 
And her spirit hath passed from all shadow of gloom. 



18 



'TIS THE SILENT GEIEE THAT CUTS THE HEART -STRINGS." 

The sudden burst of soul-subduing tears 

May soothe the saddening memory of years ; 

The voice of sympathy may wake the heart 

To other joys that gild life's brighter part ; 

The tale of woe, re-echoed o'er the mind, 

Leaves, shade by shade, the weight of grief behind ; 

By slow degrees deep anguish wears away, 

As the dark midnight ere the coming day : — 

It is the silent agony of grief 

That finds not, feels no shadow of relief ■ 

Consuming the young blossoms of the heart, 

And withering hopes that day by day depart. 

This, this is misery's hope-destroyiug might, 

And man the victim of its moral blight. 



19 



P A B T O G. 

. . . 'Tis hard to part in death — 

To know we look upon the fading breath, 

And feel the pulse, faint, throb itself away, 

While love is watching o'er the deep decay, 

In heart-struck anguish, gazing speechless there, 

A very monument of mute despair. 

But there's a hope will cling in sorrow's might — 

We know the soul we loved hath winged its flight 

To brighter spheres, where saints for ever dwell, 

And soul greets soul 'neath one all-hallo wed spell. 

. . . But harder still to part 

The one loved image from the trusting heart, 

While life is beating there, and joy hath known 

ISTo place of sunshine that was shared alone. 



'20 



HOPE. 

Let me gaze o'er the future with fancy's bright eye, 
And vision forth scenes of enjoyment that lie 
In the shadows of time ; and let hope he my guide, 
As I float o'er the bosom of life's fleeting tide. 

Oh ! what were this world — its toil and its care, 
Its deep tones of sorrow, its voice of despair! 
A labyrinth of weariness ! "What had it been 
Had hope never smiled o'er the desolate scene'? 

Oh! let my heart picture the life-spring of joy 
That brings with all sorrow its blessed alloy; 
"lis the sunshine of life, and a guiding star given 
To brighten the pathway of wand'rers to heaven. 



21 



LINE S. 

I ne'er a happy moment feel, 
But then a lingering pain 

Will o'er my spirit's sunshine steal, 
And all is dark again. 

I never knew one hour of joy 
Light up this wayward mind, 

But saddening sorrow would destroy 
The brightness left behind. 

I never felt the gladdening power 

Of heart- approving bliss, 
But then the consciousness would lower 

Of something done amiss. 

Oh ! ever and anon will meet 
Alternate joy and sorrow, 

Till at the end of life we greet 
A bright unending morrow. 

ROSENEATH, 1842. 



22 



LOVE-GIFTS. 

Oh ! bring not flowers, they fade away — 

The sunshine of an April day — 

Too brief and bright to last. 

They are not gifts from heart to heart, 

Where love, enduring, is a part 

Of the undying past. 

The brightest gems that ever shone 
Were nought to me, when thou art gone, 
Except as gifts from thee. 
One look of love, one kindly tone, 
That tells that I am loved alone, 
Were dearer far to me. 

There is no gift thy hand could bring, 
No treasured thing to which I'd cling, 
Like one fond smile of thine. 
Oh ! this can never pass away, 
While love lives on from day to day, 
And memories are mine. 



23 



LOVE'S DOUBTS AND FEARS. 

Ah ! well we know that love is given 
No perfect durance this side heaven ; 
For ever some brief doubt or fear 
Will bring the sigh and leave the tear. 

The smile that fondness gives to-day, 
To-morrow's doubting wears away — 
That lovely glance may brightly shine 
On hearts susceptible as thine. 

That voice, so sweet in every tone, 
Is its dear softness all thine own 1 
Or are there other hearts that live 
On the felt rapture it can give 1 

And are those lips, those hands, those eyes, 
For ever thine exclusive prize 1 



24 



Doth nothing earthly weigh 'gainst thee 
In boundless love's security % 

Such are the doubts and fears that greet 
All those who sigh at Cupid's feet; 
There is no cure for love's deep spell, 
But there's a palliate — Marry well. 



25 



L I N E S. 

There is a hope of joy to come for every grief we know, 
And there is still a blissfulness by each unmeasured Avoe ; 
And when the heart would bend beneath its lonely weight 

of care, 
There comes the whispered voice of love to hush its deep 

despair. 

Oh ! never let the sinking heart, by its own grief, forget 
That life is worth the living for if one heart love thee yet : 
The tear of gentle sympathy, or love's all-soothing tone, 
Will temper o'er the wildest grief that time hath ever 
known. 

Then let us wait with trustfulness on each untoward 

change 
That years, and days, and hours may bring in earth's 

remotest range : 
What though the storm of life may frown, and danger 

linger near? 
The sun's bright ray will wile away each sad foreboding 

fear. 



26 



SONG, 

"OH, TEACH ME TO FORGET! " 

By the soft blushes on thy cheek, 

By thy bright curls of jet, 
By each fond vow thy lip could speak - 

Oh, teach me to forget ! 

By the deep lustre of thine eye, 
By hopes remembered yet, 

By the fond passion of a sigh — 
Oh, teach me to forget ! 

By the sweet music of each tone 
That plays o'er memory yet, 

By the loved hours for ever flown — 
Oh, teach me to forget ! 

By hopes for ever past away, 

By love that lingers yet, 
By every trace of love's decay — 

Oh, teach me to forget ! 



THE FORSAKEN. 



And thou art gone, and I am left 
Alone in heart and feeling ; 

Of every hope and joy bereft, 
And sadness o'er me stealing. 

There seems no gladness on the earth, 
No brightness in the sky ; 

I never hear the voice of mirth 
Float on the breezes by. 

There is no voice to tell me now 
That I am loved and dear ; 

There is no hand to wipe away 
The bitter, burning tear. 

The scenes I used to gaze upon, 
The flowers I loved to tend, 



The music that I doted on, 
No more a pleasure lend. 

I live the long sad hours away— 
They bring no joy to me ; 

I never loved the bright or gay 
That was unshared by thee. 



29 



MEMORY. 

Voice of the past, whose mellowed tone 
Breathes a soft music, deep and lone, 
O'er the weary heart, where toil and care 
Hath wellnigh hushed all echo there ; 

Waking the soul of days gone by 
With the buried thoughts that in them lie, 
And the secret spring, when touched, will flow 
With joys enacted years ago. 

Yet Memory, too, will tell the heart 
A tale of life's embittered part, 
How each alternate sorrow cast 
Its shadow o'er the joyous past ; 

And bring to mind each treasured scene, 
The hopes and wishes that had been ; 



30 



And from the depths of time will save, 
The tears and smiles that friendship gave. 

Then wake not Memory's dreamy trance, 

Nor lose its time-reflecting glance ; 

» 

Think not the hour is spent in vain, 
That gives the past to thee again. 



81 



F L W E B S. 

Ye myriad blossoms that smile in the sun, 

Or weep its departure at night ! 
Bloom on in thy beauty, for spring is begun, 

And longs for each vision of light. 

Flowers speak to the heart, as the voice of a friend, 
In the mirth and the gladness of spring, 

When life is all sunshine, and young hearts depend 
On the bright hopes of promise they bring. 

Flowers soothe in our sorrow, they tell to the heart 
There are blessings of light from above ; 

And when trials and sorrows in life take a part, 
Let us look to a haven of love. 



32 



VERSES. 



Oh! there are hearts that ne'er attune 

In harmony with ours, 
Or wake in sweetest melody 

The memory of past hours. 

What other joys can ever fill 

That chaos of the heart, 
Where things that are, and things that were, 

In loneliness depart 1 

What misery to live and breathe 
With those who ne'er can know 

Deep feelings that oppress the heart, 
Bow down the head with woe ! 

We feel, oh ! doubly feel, the grief 

That others cannot share, 
And bitter, bitter is the grief 

Of thought-embosom' d care. 



ON A "GLEN" 

AT ROSENEATE, 1842. 

A brook, meandering, was my guide 
Through a wild Scottish glen, 

That tracked the mountain's heathy side 
Ear from the haunts of men. 

That lonely brook sang mournfully, 

As on its waters rolled ■ 
The music "blessed, all peacefully, 

My spirit as I strolled. 

And trees all-sweepingly o'erhung 

The waters as they lay, 
Till the deep shadows o'er them flung 

Half-hid the light of day. 

But as I wandered on and on, 
Bright sunny glances came 



3-1 



Through, those dark trees, and streaming shone 
Like sheets of liquid name. 

And many a shadowy spot and lone, 

And many an aged tree, 
And fragments grey of rock and stone, 

Wake melody to me. 

For oft before, in sunny hours, 
I've smiled o'er that loved scene ; 

Oh ! I do love the hallowed powers 
That echo what hath been. 



35 



MORNING. 

Awake, awake ! ye slumberers, wake ! 

And to the ethereal strain give ear, 
Which issues forth from yonder glade — 

The feathered songsters' chorus hear. 

Awake, awake ! the sun hath risen ; 

Effulgent light is shed around : 
The mountain- clouds afar are driven ; 

The dew is swept from off the ground. 

The lark is soaring far mid air, 
And onward takes its solar flight : 

Ely, morning harbinger ! and scare 
The slumbers from the slothful wight. 

The flowers a brighter hue do wear, 
And, breathing incense, scent the air ; 



A harmony pervades the whole, 

At once to calm and soothe the_ soul. 

The music breathes from yonder rill, 
As onward flows the silvery streani- 

A scene as "beautiful and still 
As ever haunted poet's dream. 

The morn of life, however bright, 
Doth quickly vanish from our sight ; 
And but a shade of what hath been, 
Remains to shadow out life's scene. 



37 



LINES ON THE EOYAL CHILDBEK 



Ye regal gems of infant bloom, 

Who dwell in halls of state, 
And tended by the wise and good, 

The lordly and the great ; 

With earthly blessings showered on you- 

A parent's tender eye 
To gaze, and watch, and gaze again, 

On your young ecstacy ; 

Can darkling care its frown bestow 

On such a scene of bliss, 
Or sorrow weave its veil of woe 

O'er such fond happiness 1 

There is no scene of earthly poriip 
Where shadows never dwelt ; 



33 



And there was ne'er a joyous heart 
Where sorrow was unfelt. 

But long, long may your summer be, 
And bright your days of peace ; 

And may ye find a home above, 
When earthly realms shall cease. 



CHILDHOOD. 



The years of childhood fleet away, 
Like dew drops on the quivering spray 

Before the blush of morn • 
But then the memory of years, 
Like some bright vision, reappears, 

Our life-scene to adorn. 

The scenes of childhood are too bright, 
Too full of hope and life and light, 

To guide our weary way ; 
And things of earth we loved in youth, 
With all the trusting tones of truth, 

Too often fade away. 

Childhood's joys are best and fairest, 
Childhood's griefs are least and rarest, 
Childhood's days are bliss : 



40 



When years have stamped the brow of man 
With characters of life's brief span, 
His heart will echo this. 

When years of sorrow blight the heart, 
And cherished hopes and joys depart 

Like visions of the night, 
'Twill soothe the inmost soul to trace 
The scenes that time can ne'er efface — 

Our infant hours of light. 



41 



ON J. S., WHO DIED OE CONSUMPTION. 



I stood beside the couch, of one, 
Whose quick and fevered breath 

Conveyed what wan disease had done — 
The work was thine, death ! 

Few months ago, in life's young bloom, 

She dreamt not of thy power, 
Nor deemed the dark and dreary tomb 

So soon should o'er her lower. 

Thy hand, death ! may chill life's frame, 

It cannot chain the soul, 
Which, soaring with ethereal flame, 

Mounts to a heavenly goal. 



42 



THE LANGUAGE OE SILENCE. 

There's a silence that speaks in the deeply dark eye ; 
Tis a soul-breathing eloquence lent from on high, 
To picture those feelings, to language forbid, 
As it droopingly bends 'neath the shadowy lid. 

There's a silence that speaks in the mute falling tear ; 
Ah ! it breathes deeper anguish, more sorrow sincere, 
Than the voice of affliction, in love's deepest wail, 
Did ever pour forth, the soft heart to assail. 

There's a silence that speaks in the deep heart-felt sigh ; 
Ah ! it echoes a mute half-concealed agony ; 
And the darkening shadows that flit o'er the brow, 
Betoken the sunset of happiness now. 

There's a silence that speaks in the varying smile : 
Who hath not felt how the endearment, the wile, 



43 



That those vivid circles that o'er the lip play 

With the light flash of lightning, our feelings portray I 

There's a silence that speaks in the low hectic tinge, 
And the brilliancy sparkling beneath the dark fringe ; 
And the throbs heard to beat in that fast-fading form, 
Tell a far sadder tale than the lip could have borne. 



44 



WHAT IS HAPPINESS? 



A shadow that flits from the gaze, 
Like evening's departing rays. 
O'er mountains of sorrow 
It fades from our sight, 
And the heart then must borrow 
A fainter light. 

"lis a dream of the weary soul, 
Where bright visions, without control, 
One moment will hover ; 
Then, hast'ning away, 
Leave the bosom for ever 
To sick'ning decay. 

'Tis a wave of the silvery tide, 
From our grasp it for ever doth glide ; 
And it leaves not a trace 

Of the light that is gone, 
O'er the resting-place 

Where its brightness shone. 



45 



ROSEOATR 

Oh ! I would tell of the bright, bright sky, 
Of the perfumed zephyr hovering nigh, 
Of the heath- clad hill, whose purple hue 
Rose o'er the wrapt and wondering view, — 
Of the glassy lake, whose mirrored sheen 
Reflected o'er the sun-bright scene. 
~No wave or wind in terror rose, 
To wake the deep and calm repose. 

Oh ! I would sing of each tiny flower 
That blushed its fragrance on that hour, 
Smiling in beauty far and wide, 
Like sun-rays o'er the silvery tide ; 
And the voice of music floated there 
From woody warblers of the air : 
~No "hum or shock" of man was near 
To break upon the listening ear, 
Or wake the deep impassioned tone 
That haunts the soul of man alone. 



4fi 



The jealous fear, the fretting care, 
Found no heart-aching echo there ; 
And feelings, that for years had clung 
To the lone heart from whence they sprung, 
Were hushed awhile in that noiseless hour 
By the voiceless spell of nature's power. 



47 



LIKES. 



Oh ! let ray heart linger o'er days that have been, 
When young joy was the light of my life ; 

Ere I knew and had felt that this worldly scene 
"With such soul-stirring trials was rife. 

Oh ! let me retrace, with fond memory's gaze, 

The spring-time of feeling and truth ; 
When I thought not of sadness, nor dreamt of the days 

That should darken the visions of youth. 



48 



THE STAR. 

A bright, lonely star 

In the dark heavens played, 
And it seemed from afar 

Like a thing that had strayed ; 
For it seemed to disown, 

In my fancy's wild play, 
The bright things that shone 

In their myriad array. 
Oh, I love the bright star ! 

For it whispers to me — 
Though the clouds be my car, 

Still I watch over thee. 
Thou art dear to my heart, 

Oh. sweet vision of night ! 
My life is a part 

Of thy being bright. 



49 




I watch thee when midnight 

Hath darkened the earth, 
And that pure delight 

Is sweeter than mirth. 
Away with the brightness 

That's not from above ! 
I worship no lightness 

That breathes not of love. 



50 



OH, TELL ME NOT OE OTHER DAYS! 



Oh, tell me not of other days ! 

For, oh ! the voiceless past 
But mirrors forth a thousand rays 

Of brightness overcast. 

The sunny days that fleeted by 

When the heart was young in grief— 

These are the days that memory 
Brings back in strong relief. 

The brightening hope that darker grew 
Beneath the frown of care : 

The joyous tone that only knew 
An echo in despair ; 

The beaming smile that seemed to tell 
Of future days of joy, — 



51 



Long hushed hath "been 'ueath the blighting spell 
Of death's dark and chill alloy. 

And the fairy dream of childhood's hour, 

That o'er my spirit passed, 
Was all too bright for the chilling power 

Of life's enduring blast. 

Then tell me not of other years, 

For I would fain forget 
The joys and woes, the smiles and tears, 

That cling to memory yet. 



52 



THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 



The spirit of the flowers one clay 

A-botanising went, folk sa}^ 

And stmnbling o'er a lonely flower, 

"No habitant of lady's bower — 

A tiny weed of palest blue, 

Celestial nature's fairest hue ; 

While spiral stem, and leaves all green, 

Of colour faint as childhood's dream, 

Support the flower, in beauty grown, 

Thus blooming in a wild alone ; — 

And, conning o'er some name to bless 

This tiny gem of loveliness, 

The zephyring breeze the sound had caught, 

And murmuring breathed — Forget-me-not. 



53 



THE WITHERED LEAF. 



One day a seared and withered leaf 
Across my path, was blown ; 

I stooped to pick the record up, 
"Which thus to me had flown. 

It imaged forth the stately tree 
Which once this leaf adorned, 

In all the pride of beauteous sheen, 
That now lay lone and scorned. 

And then me thought of man's career- 
His riches, honour, power, 

Which, by adversity's cold sweep, 
May vanish in an hour. 

This leaf to me the lesson read — 

Severe, yet sadly true ; 
When man is by misfortune tossed, 

He's lone, and spurned too. 



54 



SPRING. 



Bright, bright is the season when spring doth renew 
Each blossom in sunshine, or floweret in dew — 
As it wafts the chill winter on breezes away, 
And blushes its sweetness on beautiful May. 



Bright, bright is the season when young life hath known 
]STo sorrow to shadow the days that are gone ; 
"When hope after hope, like the blossoms of spring, 
Smile each into other the gladness they bring. 



55 



SERENADE. 

Wake, wake from thy sleep, 

There is light on the deep, 
And the moonbeams dance bright o'er the sea ! 

Wake, wake, my own love, 

All is smiling above — 
Fair spirits are watching o'er thee. 

Wake, wake from thy slumbers, 

And list to my numbers 
Soft music will whisper to thee : 

The breezes are sighing, 

While love is replying, 
But finds no re-echo in thee. 

Wake, wake, dearest one ; 

By the light of the moon 
I would sing of my love unto thee ; 

Thou fairy sweet flower, 

In the lone, distant bower, 
My own love, I am waiting for thee. 



56 



YEESES. 



There are scenes that for ever we'd wish to efface, 

Nor leave on the tablet of memory a trace ; 

Bright visions of happiness faded and gone, 

Hopes that, blighted and blasted, have withering flown. 

And words have been spoken that ne'er should have found, 
In the depths of the heart, e'en the echo of sound ; 
In vain we'd recall them, in anguish deplore — 
The hearts they have wounded may now beat no more. 

And the look or the tone of reproach may have swept 
Whole ages of love and affection, that slept 
In the fancied repose of the clear, glassy lake, 
Which one breath of the storm will quivering shake. 

Eemembrance is soothing, when one can retrace 
Some moments of joy where no sorrow had place ; 
But the bright star of memory who'd hail as a boon, 
To shadow forth sorrows they long to entomb 1 



57 



OH, I WOULD BE ALONE! 

Oh ! I would be alone 
In the deep twilight, when the day 
Fades from the dewy earth away, 
And rests its shadow o'er the deep, 
Silent and soft as childhood's sleep ; 
When breezes die along the plain, 
And hushed the voice of choral strain ; 
When clouds in lazy languor lie, 
As if they slept in that pure sky, 
Where the deep purple and the red 
Their rival splendours brightly shed, 
Till the dark shadows of the night 
Conceal their glories from our sight. 

Oh ! I would be alone, 
When the fond memories of the past 
Their trembling shadows o'er me cast, 



53 



And bring the heart, with many a tear, 

The treasured tones it loved to hear — 

The gentle smile, that seemed to be 

A respite from earth's misery. 

Oh, crushing thought ! that we live on, 

While those who made life blest are gone, 

And we are left alone, to brave 

The world's cold mockery to the grave. 

Oh ! I would be alone 
In the dark hour, when pent-up grief 
Gives to the heart its own relief; 
When the deep tears' unheeding flow 
Tells of the heart's unmeasured woe, 
And passions play around the soul, 
All heedless of the past control — 
When all is hushed, and none to tell 
That burning bosom's rising swell. 

Oh ! I would be alone 
In the bright, blissful summer's day, 
When all around is light and gay, 
And the dreamy spell of the sunny hour 
Will smile o'er bird, and tree, and flower ; 



59 



Each, blossom blusli a deeper hue, 
As if it felt a gladness too, 
And perfumed zephyrs, hovering high, 
Lend a sweet fragrance to the sky, 
Where the light clouds fantastic play, 
Bejoicing in the bright array. 
Oh ! then the weary heart may feel 
A calm enjoy ance o'er it steal, 
Blessing all nature fair and bright, 
That thus can make the lone heart light, 
Chasing each, sad and glistening tear, 
Hushing the voice of every fear. 
Oh. ! then the heart may muse away 
The memory of each sad dismay, 
And o'er the future fondly gaze, 
While hope on hope we onward raise. 
Each cherished thought of coming joy 
Is one bright promise — no alloy 
To wake the charm of that sweet dream, 
Gliding along life's fitful stream, 
Dancing in sunshine, till the mind 
Is lost, is dazzled, far behind, 



Until at last some worldly care, 
Like a huge rock uplift in air, 
Breaks the pure radiance of the past — 
By far too bright and smooth to last : 
It may unite, yet be no more 
The same bright stream it was of yore. 
These lone, sweet hours I would not give 
For all that makes the gay heart live ; 
The meaner joys, that cling to earth, 
Can never make existence worth ; 
But the spell of nature lives for ever, 
And is to man a life-long treasure. 



61 



A REVERIE. 

Oh ! the deep loneliness of heart and soul, 

"When feeling is crushed back upon itself, 

And thought is shadowless : there is no fate 

In the vast chronicle of human woe 

That tells a tale of suffering more than this. 

Death, in itself a sad and solemn thing, 

That wrings all hearts within its pale of woe, 

May find relief in sympathy sincere ; 

For all have felt its soul-dividing power, 

Crushing the fond affections of the heart, 

And leaving earth a desolation vast, 

Where neither hope, nor joy, nor gladness come. 

Yet sympathy is there — we may forget, 

Or time may shadow o'er the deep regret. 

The withering breath of poverty may blast 
The buoyant spirit of resisting man ; 
And hopes and fears, that trembled o'er the rich 



62 



In all the fretwork of anxiety, 
That ever haunts each honour-gaining step 
Tn this strange life, that levels man with man, 
'Neath the sad pressure of adversity. 

Some griefs there are that pass like clouds away, 
Leaving a sunshine brighter than before * 
And e'en the storm's dread and biting blast 
Must cease conflicting, and subside at last ; — 
But there's a sorrow that will last for ever,- 
Wrapping the soul in grief too deep for words — 
Keen, burning feelings, that may never wake 
The slumbering echo of a kindred soul, 
And thoughts that soar on imag'ry's wild wing, 
And find no resting-place, but turn again 
To the lone shelter of that lonely heart. 



ON SEEING 

"THE BLIND BEGGAR" 

OF THE CARRACCI. 

Amidst the living mass of human kind 
There strolled a beggar, poor and lone and blind — 
Blind from his birth — a sightless dreaming boy, 
Who felt, but never saw the sun's bright joy, 
Till at the feet of " Jesus Christ " he came, 
And then a thrill of faith shot through his frame, 
And, kneeling down, he begged, in humble prayer, 
That blessing, sight — nor long he lingered there. 



61 



THE WIDOW'S SOX. 

OF THE CAKRACCT. 

Aghast I stood — for death lay pictured there, 
Just breathing into life — that fearful air 
Of mute bewilderment, that seemed to speak 
The trembling terrors of that death-like cheek. 
The widow — who shall tell that bosom's joy, 
As sense by sense gave back her treasured boy ; 
Or paint in words that fervour of the soul, 
Breathing a heavenly radiance o'er the whole. 
The tell-tale trace of agony once there, 
Just melting into mute devotedness of air ; 
And thankfulness, and wonder, strove for place. 
In that impassioned countenance of grace. 



65 



A LOVE-LETTER 

I doat on all the whispered tones 

That tell my heart of thee, 
And everything that hears a trace 

Of what thou art to me : 
Dearer than aught this earth could give, 
For thee I'd die — for thee I live. 

There's not a flower that e'er I knew 

Was lovely in thy sight, 
And not a star that ever shone 

Beneath the shades of night, 
But I would love and cherish ever, 
That heart and soul might live together. 

There's not a look, or tone of thine, 

Untreasured in my heart • 
Thy smiles and blushes, too, are mine — 

Of memory a part. 



66 



Oh ! think not there could ever be 
A thought of mine unshared by thee. 

The deep emotions of. that soul, 
Flushing the tell-tale cheek 

With thoughts of high and holy things, 
That words were faint to speak. 

Oh ! I could gaze each hour away, 

Eeading thy features' speaking play. 

Or I would hush, in gentle calm, 
Thy mind with words of song, 

Whose tones could wake the melody 
Of worshipped days now gone ; 

And I would be in soul with. thee, 

Amid that speaking melody. 

Oh ! say not that thou canst not love, 

Thy heart is passion's own, 
That only wants one gentle touch 

To thrill from tone to tone. 



^7 



Oil ! could I, dare 1, touch that chord, 
Thou wert nry own, in deed and word. 

It is "because thou art apart, 

A being wrapt and lone, 
All differing from those around, 

I'd make thee all mine own. 
And thou art fair, and good, and true, 
"With something more, than all I knew. 

Thou art not of the giddy throng, 
Who laugh each hour away, 

As if the heart could never know 
A shadow of decay. 

And yet thy smile is pure and bright — 

Something of mirth, yet more of light. 



In heart and soul thou art above 
The many round thee met ; 

And yet how few could ever tell 
What I can ne'er forget. 



That mind may speak through beauty's eye, 
Though lip may not the look belie. 

Oh ! tell me, idol of my soul, 

If this fond prayer of mine, 
Concent' ring all my hopes in life, 

Is still unheard in thine ? 
For I would rather die than live, 
To leave the hopes thy words can give. 



69 



THE REPLY. 

Oh ! breathe not words of love to me, 

Nor tell my heart of thine ; 
And may kind Heaven give to thee 

The peace unknown to mine : 
For my sad heart a tale could tell 
Of love — my spirit's master-spell. 

But peace hath fled my bosom now — 

Ah ! never to return ; 
Fond victim of a broken vow, 

And memories that burn. 
I loved with heart and soul, and deemed 
My young heart's idol all he seemed. 

Nor dreamt that fond, endearing tone, 
In words of sweetness dressed — 

Vowing that I was loved alone, 
The first in heart confessed — 



70 



Was false and fleeting as the light, 
Whose meteor phantoms greet the sight. 

That smile of mirth and joyousness, 
That calm and placid brow — 

Oh ! conld I donbt their truthfulness 1 
The thought is anguish now. 

And yet I love — yet live to tell 

Of this fond passion's fearful spell. 

A spell it was, and is to me — 
My life's first joy — and blight ; 

E'en thou couldst never be to me 
My young hope's visioned light : 

But in this bosom will remain, 

The poisoned barb that dealt its pain. 

And thou wilt cease to wonder now, 

Why I am lone and sad ; 
For thou wouldst think it stranger how 

I ever could be glad. 



71 



All I can give, all I can claim, 

Is friendship's dear and lasting name. 

Forget what I have ever been, 
In thy love's dreamy hour; 

Oh ! would that I could have foreseen, 
My all unwitting power : 

For, oh ! it gives me untold pain, 

To know thou lov'st, yet love in vain. 

For love can never more "be mine, 
My passion's hour is gone ; 

But had I loved a heart like thine, 
I ne'er had sorrow known : 

My heart is all unfit for thee — 

Nought but a blighted, withered tree. 

Time soon will bring again to thee, 

A balm for present pain ; 
And thou wilt cease to think of me, 

And learn to love again : 
For I would live, and hope to see 
Another's heart rejoice in thee. 



NEW-TEAR'S DAY, 1843. 

This clay may bear to some an aspect bright, 

Of blushing hopes, or realised delight ; 

Or wake the heart from griefs that now must lie 

In the long vista of eternity. 

There seems a newness in all living things — 

A very freshness that the season brings. 

Friend meets with friend, and lends the list'ning ear 

To the heart's promise of a brighter year. 

And when the heart is young in voiceless care, 

And no deep sorrow lurks in anguish there — 

And youthful hope absorbs each transient ray 

Of earth's rare loveliness, the bright and gay — 

And friendship's smile, that sunshine of the heart, 

That still will linger on as years depart — 

"When relatives, the loved ones and the dear, 

Are all around, the blissful heart to cheer — 

When Death hath owned no fellowship with thine, 

Thy lot on earth hath been a lot divine — 



73 



Then niayest thou bless this year as other years, 
With lip of joy, and eye undimrned by tears, 
And give to God a heartfelt song of praise, 
And trust his power in yet unborn days. 

Yet there are some to whom this day may bring 
No voice of gladness, and no second spring — 
Whose hopes have fled like visions of the night, 
Too void, unreal, for earth's searching light — 
Whose fondest wishes fade and fall away, 
The cherished blossoms of a summer day — 
On whom misfortune bends with chilly eye, 
To freeze the soul in one bleak agony. 

To live, to know and feel this cherish'd life, 
Is but one heartless, aimless, weary strife 
Of joy and sadness, ennui and gloom — 
A trembling shadow, hov'ring o'er the tomb. 
To those who feel this wreck of soul, to-day 
Is but a stage of misery on their way ; 
And to move onward, fretted, feverish still, 
Is the first impulse of creative will. 

Oh ! there is mercy in the moving power, 
That gives no second acting of an hour : 



74 



There is no pause in time, the present's past 
Ere we one thought have o'er its briefness cast. 
We would not wish to live, oh, not again ! 
A life so checkered with disease and pain, 
With grief and sadness, — even hope and joy 
Are dear-bought treasures of the heart's alloy. 
The very brightest, gayest, of earth's blest, 
Would tell the tale, if truth were all confest. 
And thus, as years fleet by in swift array, 
'Tis but the short' ning of our fitful day. 

Oh ! let us prize the present, passing hour, 
Brief as the beauty of a summer flower ; 
The future is a mystery asleep — 
The hidden treasure of an unknown deep ; 
In vain we think to reach, in vain to scan, 
The wonder-workings of the coming plan. 

How strange is man ! how strange the human heart ! 
Where bright emotions live but to depart, 
And earnest hopes but rear their head and die, 
Entombed by fate in sad adversity. 
Why seek for joy, that evanescent thing, 
Whose beauty's gone if we but touch its wing 1 



75 



And sister pleasure gilds "but to betray 

The phantom brilliance of a fitful day. 

Contentment may be ours, if we but seek 

The lasting treasures of its boundless keep ; 

'T will tame the eager soul, whose daily strife 

Is the protracted misery of life, 

And give to man a happiness secure, 

That through long years of suffering will endure, 

And sweeten life ; while, to the lonely heart, 

'T will be the sunshine of its better part. 

Yet let us hope and trust this year may bring, 

Like the fair flow' rets of the coming spring, 

A promise of much joy, and trust for ever 

That Power, which blends our good and ill together. 



76 



LOCH G A I B. 

1844. 

The sweetest tones of nature's voice, 

Thrilling the balmy air, 
That ever made my heart rejoice, 

Were heard by thee, Loch Gair. 

-As if they would a welcome give 

Unto the stranger's heart, 
Telling there is a charm in life, 

From the gay world apart. 

The cuckoo's gentle, hushing song, 
Comes whispering with the breeze ; 

A fairy murmur all day long, 
Amid the sunlit trees. 

I love the shy and lonely bird, 
Shunning the haunts of men ; 



77 



It breathes not of the common herd, 
In sight of human ken. 

Like a lone spirit left on earth, 
Fond, desolate, and proud, 

Wailing the hour that gave it birth, 
Amid the heartless crowd. 

The gentle music of the wave, 
Kissing the pebbly shore, 

As if it knew the joy it gave,, 
And would that it were more; — 

The rushing of the waterfall, 
The gurgling of the stream — 

Will on my musing senses fall 
Like a sweet and pleasant dream. 



The very air breathes summer joy- 
One long bright sunny smile — 

As if the earth had no alloy, 
The present to beguile. 



Of all the joys that give the heart 

That bounding fhrill of bliss, 
From all earth-brooding cares apart, 

There's none so sweet as this — 

To see and feel the beautiful 

Around thee and above : 
Oh ! this is earth's first joy to me — 

An atmosphere of love. 

Wherever nature feeds my soul 

With beauty, rich and rare, 
My wandering thoughts, with fond control, 

Will turn to thee, Loch Gair. 

The dearest moments fate has given, 

To woo my spirit's care, 
Or give my soul one gleam of heaven, 

Were passed by loved Loch Gair. 



79 



WOMAN'S LOVE. 

1844 

Oh ! who shall tell of woman's love, 
Or half its depth and durance prove — 
The one fond passion of a heart, 
Where every life-beat is a part : 
Of her devotion, from the hour 
When love lits up with magic j)ower 
A new existence, pure and bright, 
With something of an angel light. 
That treasured fulness of the heart, 
Where every fairer, brighter part, 
Concentrates in the one dear thought 
(The lesson by love's language taught), 
That neither smile, nor tear, nor sigh, 
Can ere again pass lightly by. 
No grief or care, no joy or woe, 
Again the heart alone can know ; 
But each another's joy will share, 
And doubly feel another's care, 



80 



WOMAN S LOVE. 



And live and love, two souls, to heaven, 

Although on earth one heart were given. 

... If worldly care disturbs the mind, 

And friends prove false, and fate unkind — 

When all around is dark and drear, 

With nought but woman's love to cheer, 

Man still may bless the hand of fate, 

And own earth is not desolate, 

If woman's love, and woman's care, 

Hush the wild voice of his despair. 

Woman, whose heart can only know 

A part of life's own care and woe ; 

Whose griefs, like shadows, pass away, 

If love's own glance alluring stay — 

The one dear source of all her joy, 

Which, living on, bears no alloy. 

Oh ! this can make her days appear 

One long bright smile, without a tear, 

And give her heart that joyous tone, 

That lives and lasts in love alone. 

. . . Man will go forth the world's own child, 

And many schemes careering wild, 



81 



Fill up the measure of a heart, 
Where love plays but inferior part ; 
A pretty pastime, meant to chase 
The slow dull hours of life's sad pace. 
Or, like a sunbeam glancing o'er 
A waste, all dark and drear before — 
One momentary gleam of light, 
And all again is dark as night ; 
And then the heart once more is given 
To all that calls the soul from heaven : 
Eiches and power usurp the place 
Of nature's beauty, love and grace. 
Oh, fell ambition ! whose vast power 
Is felt in life, through every hour, 
Welling affections to decay, 
Wearing each better grace away ; 
Consuming hopes and blest emotions, 
Crushing the soul's own best devotions ; 
Would that thy tyrant days were run, 
And love's soft reign on earth begun : 
When each, preferring other's weal, 
And feeling more, where others feel, — 



82 



When the heart beats with joy to see 

Another's greater ecstasy — 

Or give the heart a fond relief, 

By sharing half another's grief, — 

All would be bright, and pure, and good, 

With not one soul in solitude : 

~No bosom feeding its despair, 

By brooding over bygone care, 

Till heart in selfish thought is cast, 

A broken reed, upon the past. 

But, oh ! not thus should woman be, 

Not in her darkest misery ; 

For ever and anon will gleam, 

Like the pure sunbeam o'er the stream, 

A thought, a sigh, for others given, 

The last faint gleam of her soul's heaven. 



83 



OH, MOLLY DEAR! 

TO MY SISTER MART ON HER BIRTHDAY, 
DEC. 1844. 

- Oh, Molly dear ! oh, Molly dear ! 

Thy birthday's here once more ; 
And canst thou tell, if, this short year, 

Thou'rt wiser than before 1 
For each returning year should bring 
Another flower to deck thy spring. 

Oh, Molly dear ! oh, Molly dear ! 

What are thy dreams of bliss 1 
And dost thou think the coming year 

Must be more bright than this 1 
Oh, yes ! I trust that it may be 
A future of much joy to thee. 



84 



Oh, Molly dear ! oh, Molly dear ! 

Thy life seems a bright dream, 
And thou hast much in life' to cheer 

Thy passage down life's stream. 
Oh ! may thy young heart never know 
One half this bosom's share of woe. 

Oh, Molly dear ! oh, Molly dear ! 

May blessings on thee light ; 
And may thy every smile and tear 

Be like the rainbow light. 
And thou art blessed if thou canst know 
No deeper shade of grief or woe. 

Oh, Molly dear ! oh, Molly dear ! 

No parent's love hast thou ; 
But I will watch each smile and tear, 

And shadow on thy brow. 
And pray that we may be for ever 
Entwined in heart and soul together. 



85 



THE EUTUEE. 



1844. 

Oh ! the glad Future, where our thoughts may range 
In the wild wayward fantasy of change — 
Careering onward, with untutored scope, 
Through all the young imaginings of hope ; 
Leaving the dull sad cares of life behind — 
The bygone sorrows of the anguished mind ; 
The chill of friendship gone, of love's decay, 
And all the miseries of our weary day. 

How sweet to soar on Hope's prophetic wing, 
With the soft rapture of the thoughts that bring 
A joy to life, a durance to the heart 
That else had drooped and died. 

There is a pleasure to the thinking soul 
In conning o'er the deep events that roll 
Their tideless current o'er the fate of men, 
Eising and falling 'neath no human ken ; 



In tracing o'er those memories of the past, 
, Where joy and misery blend unto the last. 
But, oh ! there is a pleasure greater still, 
When thought takes form 'neath man's creative will, 
And, in the long futurity of years, 
No sad distortion of our fate appears ; 
When each fond hope seems nursed by smiles of joy, 
With not a trace of sadness to destroy ; 
When all is bright, and earth in gladness seems 
The waking memory of our latent dreams. 

'Tis the uncertainty of time that lends 
The mystic charm that for ever blends 
With all we know of Fate : if we but knew 
The many heart-breaks, we would fain eschew 
The dark misfortunes that for ever meet — 
The few rejoicings we would fondly greet ; 
But hope, for ever buoyant, leaves behind 
Whate'er of misery might oppress the mind, 
And only trusts that future days may be 
A wider field for its expectancy. 

Oh, blessed thought ! since man can never know 
The coining joy, there's no expectant woe 



87 



To darken life ; where deeper shadows dwell 
Than bursting hearts can learn to bear with well. 
But when we know there is a home above, 
Where all is perfect and undying love, 
The heart will bend, in trusting grace, to meet 
The promised justice of the Merc} r -seat. 



88 



NATUEE. 

1845. 

Light o'er the valley the soft winds are falling, 
Caressing each floweret and leaf budding there ; 

While the voice of the birds, with their music, seem calling 
On the spirit of peace that floats through the calm air. 

Sweet are the zephyrs now hovering around thee, 
And sweeter the fragrance of each tiny flower : 

While the bright sun is smiling in radiance above thee, 
Let thy heart own the magic of beauty's deep power. 

There's a bliss to the heart, while the spirit is keeping 
A home for all things that are lovely on earth ; — 

When Nature, awake — or its image, when sleeping — 
Eeflects in that bosom each vision of worth. 

There is no shade of sorrow too deep and enduring, 
No happiness fading for ever away, 



But Nature, with smiles that are sweet and alluring, 
Can give to such darkness the prescience of day. 

Oh ! soft o'er the spirit conies Nature's own beauty, 
No feeling on earth bears the same calming power : 

Like a conscience at rest — a bright soul in its duty, 
So tranquil the presence of fancy's fond hour. 

It is not to all that this spirit is given — 

This worship of things that are lovely and good ; 

But, oh ! my heart tells me this bright beam of Heaven 
Is mine, 'midst the darkness of earth's solitude. 



90 



DREAMT LINES. 

1846. 

The lieart is not always gay, 

Though the sun shines brightly o'er us ; 
And the flush of the new-horn day 

Tells of the joys before us. 

There will come, from the spirit's cell, 
A shade o'er the trembling heart; 

And we cannot tell whence, or how, 
But it darkens life's better part. 

And the tear or the sigh will take 
Its tone from the saddened soul, 

Till the spirit of beauty wake 
The heart 'neath its soft control. 

The mind, in its weariness, feels 
The weight of a loneliness deep : 



91 



Oh. ! what is this spirit that steals 
From the bosom its loveliest sleep? 

I know not : but yet I have felt 
This sadness the voice cannot tell ; 

And the gloom o'er my spirit dwelt 

With a weary and heart-sick'ning spell. 

There are bosoms that never throbbed — 
There are hearts that never knew 

This hour of the shadowing forth, 
Sad heritage of the few. 

Oh ! are there not griefs enough — 

Keal, living, sad as true — 
That the heart claims kindred with, 

But mind must create anew? 

But such is my spirit's frame — 

This shade o'er my heart's young life ; 

And the past and the present agree 
To tell of the future's strife. 



92 



TO M. I. F. 

ON HER MARRIAGE -DAY, OCT. 26, 1857. 

This day is bright with hope to thee, 
And future joyance clings to thee ; 
The past of sorrow, care, or strife, 
Is now no more — thou art a wife. 
Or, if care lingers near thee still, 
There's one to share thy good or ill — 
To welcome, with thee, hope or joy, 
Or meet reverses with alloy — 
One who will share each thought of thine 
Oh ! this is bliss almost divine. 

To feel another's heart respond 
To every thought of thine, and, feeling, 

To be at once both wise and fond ; 
While time is still each heart revealing 
Some brighter trait of heart or soul 
Eebounding 'neath thy soft control, 



And dearer, sweeter far to thee, 

When thine in all its purity. 

For who reveals each treasured thought 

Unto the worldly giddy throng 1 
As if heart-worship could be bought, 

Or sold, the wondering few among. 
I knew thee in thy girlish day, 
And thou wert grave as well as gay, 
"Which told thy spirit had its care, 
Though mirth could also linger there ; 
For sun and shadow there must be, 
To balance life's expectancy ; 
And woman's heart, and woman's mind, 
Is purified when both's combined ; 
As darkened sorrow clouds the heart, 
To leave it brighter, and depart. 

I see thee in thy wedding hour, 
That moment of love's thrilling power ; 
I see the blush, the. tear, the smile, 
Striving for mastery the while ; 
I see the fond confiding glance 
That would each word of love enhance ; 



04 



I see th.ee give thyself away — 

'Tis done — and thou art his to-day. 

Oh ! may he keep that sacred gift — 

A woman's love : his heart uplift 

In one long, fervent, hopeful prayer, 

To love, while life is heating there. 

And though life's storm may o'er thee lower, 

Thou' It battle with its master-power, 

And feel no shadow dark can be 

While love lives on, and lives for thee. 

It tempers all this world can bring 
Of joy, or grief, to living thing. 
So my first hope and wish for thee 
Is love undying, fervent, free. 

May every blessing on thee light, 
My dearest Mary ; — now, " Good-night.'" 



95 



ON AN INFANT'S DEATH 



A year has passed, and thou, my child, 
Art numbered with the early dead ; 

No power of grief, nor anguish wild, 
Can raise thee from thy lone cold bed. 

Oh ! blest is memory's holy power : 
In dreams I clasp my baby boy. 

Yes, thou art with me every hour, 
My bosom's lost though treasured joj. 

I see thee in thy infant grace, 

Smiling in beauty, soft and mild ; 

And is the sunshine of thy face 

For ever shadowed? — oh, my child ! 

First gem of love's all-dazzling power — 
First bud of beauty, blossom fair ! 



96 



First hope of every brighter hour, 

Thou'rt gone ; and what is mine 1 — despair. 

A few short months of bliss were mine, 

To die in one soul-crushing day ; 
In silent grief we stood amazed — 

Heart-broken gasped, Is this decay 1 

So softly sleeping seemed my babe, 

Life's bloom scarce brushed from off his brow ; 
I pressed the pale cold cheek, and felt 

That death could deal no deadlier blow. 

No words can paint that hour of grief ; 

Feelings too deep for tears may tell 
How Time, that brings all else relief, 

Bears with it but a darkened spell. 

Nor would I even hush my sorrow : 

Treasured memories still live on, 
And holy day-dreams of a morrow, 

When I shall re-clasp mine own. 



97 



ON Afl INFANT'S GRAVE. 

1847. 

With low hushed step, approach, the spot 
Where infant loveliness lies sleeping, 

And innocence, that slumbers not, 
But lives again in angel keeping. 

Xo word of sorrow greets the ear, 

Xo sigh can reach the silent dead, 
Xo look of love can enter here, 

But tears will rest on that lone bed. 

Ay, weep, thou mother ! for each tear 

Tells of the worship of thy boy ; 
And thou dost well to linger near 

The last home of thine earthly joy. 

Oh ! plant sweet flowers on that young grave : 
Spring blossoms — there is one lies here ; 

In infant purity it died, 

Though sunned by smiles, and watered by a tear. 



98 



SAD HOURS. 

WRITTEN AT DRUMEORK, 1848 

Hours, long hours of weariness are mine — 
Hours that but tell of world's strife to thee; 

"lis well their anguish thou canst ne'er divine — 
A mother's hopeless grief is a deep mystery. 

Man's hopes and feelings, passions, active all, 
Have scope, and play upon each thing of life ; 

How unlike woman's, that concentrate, fall 

Back on the heart that wars not with its strife. 

If thou wouldst keep dark thoughts from brooding 
near, 

Or lift the sadness from the aching brow, 
Keep back the fulness of the falling tear, 

And let no heart-throb beat as mine does now. 



99 



Turn from thy thoughts and feelings, turn and give 
Thy thoughts to others, lone, mayhap, as thee ; 

Or list affection's calling — turn and live — 
This world bears each his load of misery. 

The tones of duty flit across the mind, 

But love's soft whisper deepens in the heart ; 

Let both their echo in my sadness find, 
And wake my being to its brighter part. 



100 



LINES. 

WRITTEN AT DEUMFOEE. 1848. 

This life is one long toil, 

A vain search after pleasure ; 

And weariness alone is ours, 
Of all we thought to treasure. 

We meet with joy, and it is gone — 
One brief flash — fading ever ; 

And sweetest ties that bind to life, 
Are first in life to sever. 

Fond words rest on the lip awhile, 

To pass in gloom away ; 
And fonder glances " bide their time/ 

To tell of love's decay. 

All things we love do jDerish first : 
Heart-treasures, one by one ; 



101 



Is life, then, worth the living for, 
When the heart's spring is gone ? 

Care after care rests on the soul — 
Fresh trials year by year — 

Until the heart is worn away 
By time's dark impress here. 

They tell me age brings to the heart 
A deadened sense of pain ; 

If grief and trials lose one pang, 
Who would be young again 1 



102 



THOUGHTS. 

WRITTEN AT ROSE NEATH. 

As I gaze on the mountain, dark towering in view, 

Or the bright waters' loveliness waving in blue, 

Beflecting the tints of that beautiful sphere, 

Now shining in sunshine and radiance here, 

I say to my spirit, Gaze, gaze on them now, 

Ere the furrows of age shall have saddened thy brow. 

When the bright laugh of childhood, re-echoing, plays 
With the mirth and the laughter of infantine days, 
O'er my heart, as it beats in the spring-time of youth, 
Now throbbing with feeling or melting with truth, 
I say to my spirit, List, list while you may, 
Ere dark Time shall have withered those feelings away. 

When the tear of sweet sympathy darkens the eye, 

Or the smile 'of affection flits cheeringly by, 

Like the shower and the sunshine alternately given, 

They smooth the lone path of the wanderer to heaven, 

I say to my spirit, Smile on while you can, 

For tears are the heritage given to man. 



103 



DBUMFOEK, 

A SUMMER'S RESIDENCE, 

I love th.ee, Drumfork, with thine old ivied walls, 
As I picture romance by thy time-stricken halls ; 
While the quaint look of ages, now passing away, 
"Will dwell on my memory for ever and aye. 

I love thee, Drumfork, for the old ivy clings 
Around thee as fresh as if Time had no wings, 
Like affection's sweet homage, that brings to the heart 
A neicness of life that will never depart. 

I love thee, Drumfork, with thine old spreading trees, 
That would guard from all else but the light summer 

breeze ; 
While the sweet smile of sunshine that bursts through 

the leaves, 
Gives as fairy a scene as the fancy e'er weaves. 



104 



I love thee, Drumfork, for no deep shadow fell 
O'er my heart since I knew thee — and, oh ! it is well ; 
For does Time ever linger where mind cannot trace 
Some dark spot of grief where no joy had its place 1 

I love thee, Drumfork, and I'll leave with regret, 
Though the summer's bright memories will cling to me 

yet; 
Like the blossoms of spring, we will court thee anew, 
Though in winter's dark hours we must bid thee adieu. 



105 



THE WATCHEB. 

He came not ; and the lonely night, 
With its dim clouds, gathered near ■ 

And I watched till the aching pang of sight 
Was quenched in the glistening tear. 

And I list for the distant sound and low, 

Of the oar on the ocean wave ; 
For there is a calm on the waters now, 

As deep as the silent grave. 

Yet I hear no sound but my own heart-beat 

Throb on the midnight air ; 
And the one wild wish that we may meet, 

Is hushed in a voiceless prayer. 

Oh, maiden ! why dost thou tarry there 1 
Hath the wave no tale for thee 1 



106 



Let it shriek forth with a wild despair, 
And its dirge, eternity. 

For the bark went down, and the waters rose, 

Encircling each spirit's strife, 
And the stream flowed on with a calm repose, 

Unheeding that waste of life. 



107 



HOME. 



There is a joy in home 

The heartless ne'er can know, 
Where secret springs of love and truth 

In trustfulness o'ernow — 
Where every day a light is shed 

Still brighter o'er life's scene, 
Eeflecting love's endearing glance, 

As it at first had been. 

There is a joy in home, 

Where heart responds to heart, 
And every thought an echo finds, 

While life is nought, apart — 
Where not a tone, a tear, or smile, 

Can pass unheeded by, 
But every glance is watched and read 

By one untiring eye. 



108 



There is a joy in home, 

Where'er affections dwell, 
And sweetest words of sympathy 

Awake the inward spell — 
Where not a trace of selfishness 

Nor angry words intrude, 
Where life seems peace and joyousness, 

Earth beautiful and good. 

These are the joys of home, 

To those who would embrace 
A something of more lasting worth 

Than in the world we trace ; — 
A world where pleasure weaves with woe 

A wreath of thorny flowers, 
And in whose gayest scenes of mirth 

There lurk embittered hours. 



109 



SONG. 



Light of my soul, I'll think of thee 

When the daylight breezes die, 
And the shadows of evening steal over the sea 

And curtain the azure sl$y. 

I'll think of thee in the dreamy hours 

That hush my soul at night ; 
And I'll think of thee by the fairy bowers 

That smile in the summer's light. 

I'll think of thee when joy is mine 

In every hour of gladness ; 
And my fond heart will turn to thine 

In hours, long hours, of sadness. 

I'll think of thee — oh ! I will twine - 

Fond memories with thee yet ; 
And while thy heart will echo mine, 

We never can forget. 



110 



THE VOICE OF SPKING. 


I heaed it in the laughing breeze, 


The dashing of the fountain ; 


I heard it murmur in the trees, 


And sweep along the mountain. 


I heard it in the dying gale, 


Hushing the sunlit sea ; 


I knew it whispered in the vale 


By every flower and tree. 


I heard the feathered songsters sing 


A wild and joyous strain ; 


I knew it was the voice of spring, 


And blessed the sound again. 



Ill 



MUSINGS. 



Sweet are the joys we view, 

When thought o'er the future glides ; 
Heart bids the past adieu, 

Nor sighs o'er its bygone tides. 

Bright are the corning hours, 

As we picture some mind-framed scene, 
A vision of love amid bowers, 

Where sorrow and care ne'er had been. 

Oh ! dear is the first hope of youth, 
Ere sadness hath sickened the soul, 

When the earth seems all gladness and truth, 
While happiness reigns o'er the whole. 

But let that heart live year by year, 
Till its sunshine of promise is past, 



112 



And experience will teach with a tear, 
The strength of reality's blast. 

There ne'er was a sunshine of days; 

But there a deep shadow fell too ; 
Still hope would bask on its rays, 

Bidding darkness for ever adieu. 



113 



THE LIP MAY SMILE 

The lip may smile 

With beauty's wile, 
Though, grief corrode the heart ; 

And who may know 

The secret woe 
It cannot all impart 1 

The laugh as bright 

As sunny light 
May banish others' care ; 

And who may guess 

The hopelessness 
Of grief they cannot share ? 

The brow may wear 

No trace of care, 
Though darkling sorrows lower ; 

And who will think 

The heart doth shrink 
']N"eath sorrow's blighting power ? 



114 



NIGHT. 



I love to gaze upon the brow of night, 

As shade by shade enfolds the evening light, 

When the glad sunshine passes from the earth, 

To give a fainter light, her lesser birth. 

Mark how the mountains, in their pride of place, 

Grow more terrific 'neath night's shadowy trace, 

And seem like giant-genii thither hurled, 

To guard the slumbers of a mortal world. 

I love to watch each bright and beauteous star 

Shoot forth in golden lustre from afar ; 

To mark the clouds' fantastic gambols roll, 

Like fleeting fancies round the dreamy soul, 

Passing in wild and varied forms by, 

The stilly presence of the midnight sky. 



115 



OH! THEEE AEE HOURS. 



Oh ! there are hours that pass away, 

Like the bright sunshine of a day, 

Leaving a gladdening hope behind, 

Like summer sighing in the wind. 

Then hope is joy, and grief-forgetting man 

Thinks life is bliss, — the world too short a span. 

Oh ! there are clays that swiftly glide, 

Like the soft murmuring of the tide, 

Leaving a peaceful joy at heart, 

The memory of a brighter part. 

Then man, forgetting former griefs of mind, 

Thinks earth is paradise — and God is kind. 

Oh ! there are moments too, that fly 
Like darkened clouds across the sky, 



116 



Leaving an aching anguish there, 

The tearless silence of despair. 

And then man thinks, Oh ! what is life and light 1 

A dreary, gloomy, never-ending night. 

Oh ! there are years that fleet so fast, 

That each seems shorter than the last, 

And man is taught each year to know 

Eternity's not life below. 

And man should bend with reasoning heart and soul, 

To power supreme — a viewless, felt control. 



117 



LINES 

ON HEARING A CHILD LAUGH AT PLAT. 

Laugh on — thy heart is light, 
"With thy merry, merry tone ; 

For thou hast never felt the blight 
That hath subdued mine own. 

Laugh on — I love to gaze 

On that blushing smile of thine, 

For, oh ! it tells of other days, 

When such fleeting mirth was mine. 

Laugh on — it will rejoice 

My lonely heart to hear 
The silvery music of thy voice, 

For the happy sound is dear. 



118 



Laugh, on — thy joyous heart 

Hath never felt a care, 
Or such light tones of merriment 

Would never linger there. 

Laugh on — and may that smile 
Long circle o'er thy brow ; 

And mayst thou never, never feel 
The anguish I do now. 



119 



OH! SING OF JOY. 



Oh! sing of joy — for I have felt 
That sadness in my bosom dwelt, 
One tone of joy might yet efface 
The mem'ry of grief's resting-place. 

Oh! sing of joy — for I have known 
Dark sorrow's melody alone : 
The music round my spirit wreathed, 
Hath ever been by sadness breathed. 

Oh ! sing of joy — for I would fain 
Eecall those sunny hours again, 
That lit in childhood o'er my brow — 
Where are those days of sunshine now? 

Oh ! sing of joy — it glads my heart 
To think, though joys from me depart, 



120 



The bliss of peace may softly rest 
On some less darkly troubled breast. 

Ob ! sing of joy — that I may feel 
The light of gladness o'er me steal : 
Oh! sing of joy — that I may smile, 
My heart's despondency to wile. 

Oh! sing of joy — that I may know 
That other hearts feel less of woe : 
Oh ! let the song of joy arise, 
And chase the sad tear from mine eyes. 



121 



HOURS OF REFLECTION. 

Events upon events roll 
In strange confusion round the soul : 
There is no happiness or joy 
Unfollowed by a deep alloy : 
Where'er the laugh or smile may he, 
There is a tear for misery. 
And hours of gladness bring to view 
Some rankling sorrow with them too ; 
And mind, beneath each care and woe, 
Sinks gradually beneath the blow ; 
And each returning sorrow brings, 
And leaves behind, its train of stings, 
Until the soul, so worn in grief, 
Finds death the only sure relief; 
And with a faint, life -leaving sigh, 
Man's soul is wafted up on high; 
And angels bear again to God 
A soul — the sunbeam of the sod. 



122 



Oh, man ! if earth were all to thee, 
Thy measure of eternity, 
And no pure scene of heavenly bliss 
To raise thy soul from dross in this, 
The boon of life I would not crave — 
A whirl of nothings, to the grave : 
But when we feel a God is nigh — 
The master-spirit of the sky — 
And know that one all-perfect plan 
Rules, guides, directs, and comforts man, 
We feel that Time was made to be 
The preface to Eternity: 
And man's ennobled feelings rise, 
To find a shelter in the skies : 
And earth-born feelings sink to rest, 
'Neath bright religion's holy crest. 

Oh ! blessed thought, for man to find 
The soul is an undying mind, 
That hies to regions brighter far 
Than any world-adorning star, 
Or all of beauty thought could ever 
Concentrate in one whole together. 



123 



WHAT SHALL WE LOYE? 



Shall we love the fairy flower, 

That brushes in tire "breeze? 
Shall we love the shades that lower, 

O'er the dim and twilight trees? 
Shall we love the lonely bower, 

In the distant woodland scene? 
Shall we love the mouldering tower — 

Sad wreck of what hath been? 
Oh ! no ; love not the things that perish, 
Such fading phantoms, who would cherish ? 

Shall we love affection's light, 
As it sparkles o'er our way? 

Shall we trust in friendship's might, 
With its heart-enduring sway? 



124 



Sliall we love the deep midnight, 

Its silence-breathing cairn, 
Its myriad stars so bright, 
In the dew of evening balm 1 ? 
Ah ! no ; the heart's affections range, 
As midnight scenes for ever change. 

Shall we love the form of grace ? 

Shall we love the deep, dark eye, 
As the smile of love we trace, 

Like a sunbeam hovering nigh? 
Shall we love the fair, sweet face, 

Once so fondly gazed upon ? 
Shall we weep the shortened race 

Of so bright — so dear a one? 
Oh! love not the things that fade away, 
Nor weep for blossoms of decay. 

If thou lov'st those things of bliss, 
In the sunshine of thy heart, 

Let thy soul remember this — 
They must, they will depart. 



125 



If thou lov'st the things of earth, 

Let o'er thy memory play — 
Shall I deem this idol worth, 
In a far and futnre day? 
But if thy conscience echo, Never, 
Then love not things that change for ever. 



126 



A DIALOGUE 

BETWEEN THE WORLD AND THE HEART. 

VOICE OF THE WORLD. 

Here cease all sorrow, and all care forego, 
Long blessed years of hope and gladness know ; 
Eiches, power, honour, weave one endless maze 
Of rare enjoyment, o'er thy future days. 

VOICE OE THE HEA'ET. 

Oh ! tell me not of riches, honour, power, 
The transient shadows of man's little hour ; 
On the false glitter of such fragile toys, 
I cannot, dare not, build my young heart's joys. 

VOICE OF THE WORLD. 

Then let me tell thy heart of friendship's might, 
Twining two souls in one communion bright ; 



127 



Of love's soft radiance melting care away, 
The summer sunshine of our fitful day. 



VOICE OF THE HEABT. 



Yea, friends in name I know that I possess, 
And friends in power, prosperity, and bliss, 
And friends to smile when all is bright and gay, 
But not one friend to sfiare a soul's dismay. 

And thus, with all the world can give, I feel 
A chilly sadness o'er emotions steal ; 
For who could bear to tell the soul's deep thrill 
To those who care not if that soul were still. 



128 



WOEDS. 

There never was spoken, in earnest or jest, 
A word, but its meaning was deeply imprest 
On a heart whose emotions for ever will beat 
With that wild thrill of feeling Time cannot defeat, 

No word of reproach can pass over that mind, 
But there lingers the trace of its torture behind ; 
And the cold icy look, where affection should dwell, 
Oh ! this is an anguish the lip cannot tell. 

To live on for ever, and know not a voice 
That will echo with rapture thine own heart's rejoice- 
To grieve on in sorrow and silence alone, 
Is to live the keen martyr of feelings unknown. 

Oh ! hard is the fate of the sensitive soul, 
And harder the refuge of mental control — 
To tame the deep passions, and ice o'er the heart, 
Till it bear the impression of life's chilly art. 



129 



ON SAILING ON LOCH LONG BY MOONLIGHT. 



Evening shadows deeply fell 
Over mountain, flood, and dell, 
And a rich, and roseate hue 
Its own gladness softly threw 
O'er a scene as brightly "blest 
As ever hushed my soul in rest. 

Then the pale moon in silence rose 
Amid that deep and calm repose, 
And smiles from heaven mildly bent 
Along that spacious firmament ; 
While stars of brightest beauty shone, 
Dazzling and fair to look upon, 
As if they felt a presence there, 
The spirit-passion of the air — 
A something holy, true, and good, 
Kuling that silent solitude. 



130 



LOCH LONG. 



Oil ! who could gaze on such, a scene, 
Nor feel the power of Nature's sheen, 
Concentrating whole years of bliss 
In one deep moment passed like this f 
Loch Long in tranquil beauty lay, 
Aud calm each deep indented bay, 
And rocky fragments wildly threw 
Their rude grey shadows o'er the deep, 
As if the darkness of each hue 
Could lull that water's life to sleep. 
And giant mountains towering high — 
Earth-born dwellers of the sky — 
In silent majesty looked down, 
While moonbeams kissed away each frown, 
Until they seemed in gladness there 
The treasured monarchs of the air. 
And gushing streams, in frantic play, 
Came leaping o'er that rocky bay, 
Gleaming beneath the moonlight pale, 
Like waking spirits of the vale, 
Until they reached that living deep, 
And found a home in Nature's keep. 



131 




But yet another lake is there, 
Enshrined by mountains "bleak and bare ; 
Yet wild in grandeur is the scene, 
And beauty lingers there, I ween.- 
Ear on a promontory's keep, 
Laved by the waters of the deep, 
There stand, in ruined glory piled, 
The fragments of a fortress wild— 
A rude memorial of the past, 
That still through living years may last ; 
And memory's enraptured. gaze 
Gives back the scenes of other days, — 
And Carrick Castle, bold and free, 
The land-mark of Loch Goil shall be. 

Oh ! could I live in scenes of love, 
Or picture visions from above 
With all the force of passion's power 
In Imag'ry's own magic hour, 
Thought could not paint, lip could not tell. 
The witchery of that evening spell. 

Upon that lake's calm bosom sped 
A tiny bark, whose sails were spread 



132 



LOCH LONG. 



To catch each zephyr hovering nigh— 
The soft night-breeze of that pure sky, 
As ever and anon it came, 
Retiring yet, and still the same, 
As if it would for ever keep 
Its burden on that lonely deep. 

Hush ! for the voice of song is there, 
A wild and melancholy air, 
Thrilling the hearts that bark doth bear : 
Soft o'er the deep its magic fell, 
Bearing a charmed, living spell, 
Leaving the heart that mellowed tone 
That music gives, and gives alone. 
Again a voice in cadence rose 
Over that deep and still repose, 
And poesy gushed forth its truth 
Fresh from the buoyancy of youth ; 
And tales of love and gladness woke 
In each heart's home ; while that voice spoke 
Free from the heart, 'twas there to claim 
An echo in each listener's frame. 
And well it told, for when 'twas o'er, 



133 



A silence deeper than before 
O'er each fair presence gently came, 
The meetest tribute it could claim ; 
lor who in words could e'er express 
The fulness of deep joyousness 1 

Oh ! many a year may pass away, 
And hours of mirth and gladness play 
Around each heart that beat that day, 
But there will never come again 
An hour of bliss less free from pain ; 
Nor scenes of beauty e'er compare 
With what we viewed, nay, worshipped there 
In memory's life it will live for ever, 
While heart and soul beat on together. 



134 



TO NORA, 



ON HER THIRD BIRTH-DAT, JUNE 21. 



Nora, my heart's darling ! 

This is thy natal day, 
And three short years of thy young life 

Have briefly passed away. 
May a mother's blessing linger 

Ever round thee, Nora, dear ! 
Though it save thee not from sorrow, 

It may wile away a tear. 

Thou'rt the child of early promise, 

Of many hopes and fears ; 
May thy joyous-hearted gladness 

Bear thee on through upward years. 



135 



There is grace in every motion, - 

And the health-bloom on thy cheek 

Tells of many a bright emotion 
That thy lip can hardly speak. 

There is an infant beauty 

In thy carelessness and glee ; 
Tor what is all the Future, 

If the Present 's joy to thee ? 
Oh ! may thy young heart's promise 

Be as bright as it looks now, 
And cast no after-shadow 

On thy pure and sunny brow. 

May each year that makes thee older, 

Make thee wiser than the last, 
For happier thou canst hardly be 

Than in thy young morning past. 
Adieu, my darling Nora, 

Till again thy mother sing 
The brightness of her summer flower 

In its sweet and early spring. 



136 



ON THE SEA-SHOEE. 

Glad sight of the ocean, 

Where each dancing wave, 
With its brightening emotion, 

The beach doth enlave. 
Oh ! I wander in fancy 

Each billow to meet, 
And smile with a gladness 

As they break at my feet. 
And I sit by the shore 

In a wild dreamy mood, 
And think o'er and o'er 

In this sweet solitude. 
Yet my thoughts scarcely gather 

One definite gleam, 
For they flit and roll on 

Like the varying stream. 

137 



And each, hour passes on 

In this dreamy repose, 
Like each wave that is gone 

Ere another arose. 
Oh, I love the deep waters ! 

And the voice of the sea 
Hath a music untold 

In its rapture for me. 



THE DESEETED COTTAGE. 

IMITATION OF WORDSWORTH. 

A cottage by a river stood, 

A little cottage, wild and rude, 
And every stormy wind that blew, 
Seemed sighing there a last adieu ; 
So long the cottage stood. 

The windows tottered in their frame, 

The door half-open lay, 
And seemed by its retiring air 
To wish the stranger's entrance there, 

To save it from decay. 

And far and near, by that lone hut, 

No trace of humankind there dwelt ; 
The very birds that twittered near, 
The tiny insects hovering here, 
The stillness mierht have felt. 



139 



THE DESERTED COTTAGE. 



Yet aged trees grew near the spot, 
And bushes lived along the plain, 

And wild-flowers bloomed in beauty there ; 

They never felt the blighting air 
Of misery's all-subduing pain. 

It was. a bright and sunny morn 

When first I gazed upon that scene ; 

Oh, what sad thoughts came o'er me sweeping ! 

The dew upon the grass seemed weeping 
In sympathy with what had been. 

In brighter days it must have been 

A dear delightful spot on earth, 
"Where peace and joy together dwelt, 
And kind affection that had felt 

Its all intrinsic worth. 

And many a joyous heart hath beat, 

And smiles have lived in sunshine there, 

As if each hour that passed away 

Were one enduring summer day, 
And earth had nought of care. 



140 



But I must leave this cottage scene, 
And faintly sigli a fond " farewell;" 

For, oh ! I love the lonely scene — 

It bears to me a holier sheen 
Than heart to lip can tell. 



141 



1855. 



TO MINNIE. 



Minnie, darling of my heart, 
Is there no song for thee ? 

Thou art the sunshine of a life 
That lives in loving thee. 



And fair art thou as a summer's dream, 
With thy bright and golden hair ; 

And the merry tone of thy infant laugh 
Kings on the silent air. 

But who shall tell of thy beaming glance, 

That speaking, soul-lit eye, 
With its sweet bright gaze of dewy love, 

Calm as an evening sky ? 

Thou art a child of promise fair — 
What shall thy future be '? 



U2 



God in heaven ! grant the prayer 
Of a mother's love for thee. 

1 do not wish nnmingled peace, 

.Nor sunshine without shade — 
.Not for such unmeted happiness 
Were we poor creatures made ; 

But I would have endurance mild, 
And hope, and faith, and love, 

For ever to he near my child, 
Guiding to realms above. 



143 



SO^G. 



I MAY SEEM HAPPY. 



I may seem happy — who can tell 
The bosom's inward thought 1 

You think me joyous — it is well — 
The lip-smile may be taught. 

I may seem happy — in the dance, 
Who bounds so lightly there 1 

But midst that ball-room's gay expanse 
There throbs a heart's despair. 

I may seem happy — but that voice, 
Kinging its mirth-tones near, 

Tells me not of a heart's rejoice, 
But many a wail and tear. 



144 



SONG. 



I may seem happy — who may know 
The heart's deep-treasured grief % 

The leaves conceal the bended bough, 
And silence brings relief. 

I may seem happy — careless, free, 
' And joyous as the throng ; 
I sound no tale of misery, 
Nor tell of voiceless wrong. 

I may seem happy — though the tear 

Befits this eyelid best ; 
You think me joyous, yet each fear 

Belies each hope of rest. 

I may seem happy — it is well; 

For who would care to know 
What this scared lip may never tell 

Of all its hidden woe % 



145 



ALICE. 

Alice, I have ever loved thee — 

Alice, I will love thee still ; 
Thou art gone for ever from me, — 

It is well — it was thy will. 

Hast thou found a heart to love thee 
With deep passion like to mine 1 

No other love could ever move me, 
Still to thee fond memories twine. 

Fair and frail one, I adore thee, 

Loving evermore the same ; 
I would not lose the spell cast o'er me, 

Though I die beneath its name. 

Could I dream thou wouldst deceive me, 
Doubt those loving lips of thine, 



146 



Or the deep impassioned glancing 
Of those soft eyes into mine 1 

Could I hear the trembling toning 
Of thy sweet voice thrilling near, 

And believe that thou wouldst leave me 
Thus heart-broken, Alice dear 1 

It is vain : I'll ne'er forget thee ; 

By fond memories of yore, 
By each heart-beat of a passion, 

Living, loving, evermore. 



147 



THE PAST. 



Years have fled, and thy day-dreams all 
Have been changed by the power of fatality's thrall ; 
Past love, and past hope, and past care, where are they 1 
Like the years that best knew thee, have vanished away. 

Life's first fairest bloom by its brightness decays, 
As the blossom will die that first felt the sun's rays — 
Will wither and fall, shed its leaves on the ground ; 
This is youth's fairest promise — a vision, a sound. 

We are not what we seem, with the will and the power 
To mark out the future — it is not man's dower ; 
We hope, and we Avish, and we mete out onr plan, 
But fatality rules from the first hour of man. 

And the hopes that were brightest first wither away, 
And the heart that was dearest will change in a day ; 



14S 



Every thought of the future's a dream at the best — 
Time gone is the whole that we ever possessed. 

Let the heart linger over the days that are gone — 
Tliey are thine, and will yield up their sweetness to none 
We may hope for the future, but a joy of the past 
Is thine own heart's for ever, and a joy to the last. 



149 



OX AYE. 



LIVING AT WELLINGTON SQUARE. 



I went to pass some months at Ayr, 
Thinking of beauty, sunshine there ; 
And poesie, to give the scene 
A radiance all its own, I ween. 
But oh, alas ! a blank came o'er 
My spirit's life ; for ne'er before 
Have I seen such a dismal square. 
Entombing all my hopes of Ayr. 
For I must have to glad my heart, 
Something of beauty — nature's art ; 
Tall spreading trees, and flowerets gay, 
Huge mountains, towering far away ; 
A sea- view in the distance gleaming, 
And harvest fields, with full grain teeming 
Music of birds, and perfumed air. 
How could I find such things at Ayr 1 
And echo only answered, "Where 1 " 



150 






LINES ON VISITING STAFFA. 

August 1858. 

Go visit Staffa : to the wondering soul 
There is no spot on earth or sea can claim 
One-half its magic power; o'er the mute mind — 
Struck dumb in deep amazement — beauty, grandeur, 

power, 
Meet and commingle in stupendous whole. 

Oh ! the dark beauty of the ocean wave, 
Bounding and bursting through the sea-girt cave ; 
Foaming and breaking onward evermore, 
O'er the rude island and its pillared shore. 

There is no human life on that bare rock — 
Too bleak, too lone and desolate for man — 
Yet beasts and birds do congregate thereon, 
And wake wild music on that rugged strand. 
A columned monument of power divine ! 
Nature's own hand-craft, all untouched by time, 



151 



It stands in beauty, majesty, and power, 

A rock of ages, present, and to come. 

Long will the memory of that sea-bound cave 

Glide in its beauty o'er the awe-struck mind; 
And the deep music of the rushing wave, 

Leave the sad echo of its lull behind. 
Yet one thing lacked this worshipped scene to me, 
And that was solitude, save me and thee. 
I would not have the gay and garish crowd, 
In stage-struck mimicry and voices loud, 
Proclaiming each and every deep emotion 
Of that wild scene, amid the wilder ocean. 
Oh, no ! in silent wonder worship there, 
And, if an echo, but the voice of prayer. 



152 



LITTLE VOICES. 



Little voices come to me, 
Sweet o'er the morning air ; 

Heart-stirring greetings, sent to be 
A solace from life's care. 

Little voices breathe to me 
A music all their own — 

A strain of heavenly harmony, 
For ever moving on. 

Little voices full of glee 

And laughter-loving mirth ; 

Life seems but one long joy to be- 
No shadows on the earth. 

Little voices prattling on, 
Making music of each tone ; 

153 



Little mouth ings of each word, 

All so sweet, yet so absurd ; 

Little snatches of a song, 

Music right, and words all wrong ; 

Little memories of an hour, 

Fading like a spring-tide flower. 

Little hopes, and little joys, 

Each entrance, like treasured toys ; 

Sunny smiles, and April tears, 

Such the life of infant years ; 

Little patterings of feet, 

Moving onward, fast and fleet ; — 

These are sounds that make to me 

One long soft gush of melody, 

And bright that woman's home for ever 

Where " little voices " twine together. 



154 



MARY MAUD. 



Five years had passed ! another soul 

Unto my care was given : 
A tiny infant daughter came — 

A blessed gift from heaven. 

Sweet as the first fair flower of spring, 

Soft as the morning dew — 
A sunny smile of light and love, 

"With eyes of violet blue. 

The third fair floweret God hath placed 

In the garden of my heart, 
To tend, and love, and bless always, 

Till life and love depart. 

Two other flowerets blossomed there, 
Scarce living ere they died ; 

But, oh ! I know they live again, 
As angels, side by side. 



155 



TO BABY. 



Oh, baby ! laugh, and smile, and crow- 

What baby can do more 1 
And while we dance thee to and fro, 

We kiss thee o'er and o'er. 

The sweetest, softest little thing 

To pet, caress, and fondle : 
May every blessing round thee cling, 

Thou dearest little bundle. 



156 



ON TWEEDSMUIR. 



Down in the valley, sheltered by the hill, 
Fanned by the breeze, and watered by the rill, 
Lies sweet Tweedsrnuir — a village wrapt and lone, 
No tutored township Of the sculptured stone, 
But a fair hamlet — wild and sweet to view, 
Smiling beneath a canopy of blue. 

The Tala, running in a wayward stream, 
Keeps murmuring like the music of a dream ; 
Leaping and rushing onward, still it flows 
With a sweet cadence in that deep repose. 
Fair Tweed, descending from the neighbouring height, 
Meandering on through meadows greenly bright, 
Greets the lone Tala with a swift embrace, 
And, gushing downward with their silvery trace, 
Together now, they sweep along the expanse, 
Lending a beauty to the peaceful manse. 

On a small hillock stands the house of God — 
A little church, the landmark -of the sod, 



157 



An ancient edifice of years gone by, 

Telling of souls now ' ' passed into the sky," 

And weaving thoughts of man's eternity. 

The quiet old churchyard lies so sweetly there, 

It seems a place of slumber from life's care ; 

Yet years ago, as I am told in story, 

Dark deeds were done by hands all red and gory, 

And martyrs suffered in religion's cause, 

Who lived for God, and not conventional laws ': 

Man's meaner tribute to the church and state 

Found but resistance, and the martyr's fate 

But stamped the seal of glory on the brow 

That sings a song of triumph then as now. 

The martyr's grave is there, though time hath chased 

WelLnigh the lettered history, and effaced 

What once in love and reverence was placed. 

There is a beauty in that mountain land, 
Where shepherds tend their flock with careful hand, 
And all is peaceful in the passing day, 
While strife and war have fled in dire dismay, 
Scarce leaving aught to tell of their decay. 
There is a beauty in the cottage life, 
Telling of love beyond the world's strife ; 
If no ambition haunts the peasant heart, 



158 



And no vain strivings at an unknown mart 

Surround the inmost lurkings of his soul, 

Oh ! surely his calm fate will onward roll 

With less of misery than the man who knows 

Enough of life to wreck his soul's repose. 

Ah ! who that dwells amid the city's din, 

With all its conflict of enduring sin, 

Its myriad cares, its many hopes and fears, 

Its days of turmoil, and its busy years, 

But who would gladly seek some mountain home, 

Where he in blessed peacefulness might roam — 

Contented reign in some -secluded spot, 

The world forgetting — by the world forgot 1 

A pastor's life, in such a scene as this, 
Should be a life of godliness and bliss ; 
Guiding with grace each weary soul to heaven 
(The wandering lamb into the sheepfold driven), 
Until he finds a shelter far above, 
Where all is tempered with undying love. 

A cherished memory of that wild sweet scene 
Comes with its beauty from the past, I ween, 
Breathing a fragrance through the summer air, 
Telling of love and peace that linger there, 
In that far home, amid the silent wood, 



159 



The stir of life, in that sweet solitude. 

For hearts beat there, whose voice of joy will rise, 

With a. soft cadence, to the ambient skies, 

As life's emotions thrill through man}" a heart, 

That in that life's vain struggle bears no part, 

But lives and gushes forth its own sweet song, 

Pleased with the little world it moves among ; 

Contented ever, that its daily strife 

Is all-consistent with our checkered life. 

Now let my thoughts return to days of yore, 
And scenes I love to picture o'er and o'er ; 
May those who, with me, worship nature's spell, 
Say to this sunny " Tweedsmuir," Fare-thee-well ! 



THE END. 



160 






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